


it was his pleasure, for the best of reasons, to keep concealed

by blushingflower



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushingflower/pseuds/blushingflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Kink Bingo 2010, prompt: anonymity.  A few other kinks may have snuck in as well, seeing as how they like to travel in groups.<br/>The original story, being one of forced marriage, contains some dubious consent by its very nature.  I didn't do anything to remove that, though it isn't the focus of the story.  But the consent is never really explicit either.</p>
    </blockquote>





	it was his pleasure, for the best of reasons, to keep concealed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2010, prompt: anonymity. A few other kinks may have snuck in as well, seeing as how they like to travel in groups.  
> The original story, being one of forced marriage, contains some dubious consent by its very nature. I didn't do anything to remove that, though it isn't the focus of the story. But the consent is never really explicit either.

\----------------------

Standing on the cliff, awaiting her fate, this was not what Psyche had expected. Not a gentle wind to carry her to a meadow, not a palace full of treasure, not invisible servants attending to her every need. And certainly not pleasure in her marital bed.

Tucked into the impossibly comfortable bed that was now hers, her hand drifted down between her legs, more out of habit than arousal. She drowsily played with herself for a while, before fading off to sleep. Her hand was still there when she awoke to the touch of her new husband. His hand brushed the hair from her face, stroking her cheek. That same hand then traced her arm, until his hand rested on top of hers.

"Allow me, my darling" he whispered in her ear, his hand beginning to stroke her while he kissed her lips. He seemed to know exactly how she liked to be touched: the speed, the pressure, the location, were all perfect.

It was dark, and the lights throughout the palace had been extinguished, so she could not see him. But she moaned in pleasure as he worked his fingers between her legs and explored her body with his mouth. She kissed him back when he kissed her mouth. He suckled on her nipples, and she arched her back, pushing her breasts into his mouth. When he pushed her legs apart and began to lick and suck, she cried out, clutching at the sheets as the pleasure built and built until it exploded in an orgasm.

She felt him slide inside her moments later, and rocked her hips up, moving with him as he consummated their marriage. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, her eyelids, her ears, showering her with affection and murmuring endearments. She felt him shudder and grow still. Then he was gone.

When she woke up, the only proof she had that he had been there at all was the slight bit of blood staining her sheets.

She spent the next day eagerly waiting for his return, this mysterious husband of hers, who was also a stranger. She wondered who he was, what he looked like, what he was like. And, with nothing else to do all day, she found herself aroused at the thought of his hands and his voice, anonymous in the dark, and counting the hours until sundown.

\-----------------

He had his reasons. It's not that Cupid particularly thought that secrets were _good_ for a marriage. But he knew how mortals responded to the sight of gods, and he wanted Psyche to love him for himself, not his godhood. So he set out to seduce her, to gain her trust.

The son of Venus isn't exactly a stranger to desire, to pleasure, to the myriad ways that gods and humans have found to derive satisfaction from sexuality. And he knew that consummating his marriage to Psyche would be pleasurable, even if he had to hide his identity from her.  
What he didn't expect was that it would be so fucking _hot_.  
He hadn't expected to find her with her hand already between her legs. He hadn't expected her to be so responsive to a stranger's touch, so willing, so eager. And he hadn't expected that the fact that she couldn't see him, didn't know who he was, would excite him so much.

He idly wonders what it would take to get Apollo (and Diana) to give him a full day and night of darkness, no sun or moon in the sky, so that he could really take his time.  
\-------

When night finally comes, Psyche can't sleep. She's eager for her husband to come again. Torn between curiosity and the excitement that his mystery provides, she waits impatiently for the night to grow dark enough for him to arrive.

When he does, she greets him with enthusiasm, doing what she can to return the pleasure he gives. Her tongue snakes into his mouth, her arms and legs wrap around his body. She kisses whatever body parts she can reach, but since she can't _see_ him, and doesn't have enough experience with men to be able to navigate by touch and instinct alone, there is only so much she can do.

But he is more than happy to work with her, to kiss and touch and tease until they're both at the edge of begging for release. He revels in her climax, which is better for him than his own. When she orgasms, he feels it deeply, her pleasure, her surrender, her trust in her mysterious lover. His own orgasm is a mere aftershock of hers.  
\-------  
Later, after the whole thing blows up in his face, he chides himself. He should have known better. He should have remembered that humans are curious. Should have known that her sisters, who had always been jealous, would take that curiosity and feed it with fear, turning into the thing that almost wrecks their marriage. He should have known better than to get so caught up in the hotness of it, and in the rush of power he felt. The power he had, and the trust she showed him were like drugs to him.

But even so, it's all he can think about sometimes.  
\---------  
It turns out, that it's all she can think about sometimes too. And when he comes home and discovers that she has left a blindfold and a text of stories of the gods disguising themselves on the bedside table, he realizes exactly what she means.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from [Bullfinch's version](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/cupid.html) of the original text in The Golden Ass by Lucius Apuleius.


End file.
